Unwritten Works
by Breelin
Summary: It wasn't always all seriousness in the penthouse... sometimes the Garde can be just a little silly. Six battles it out over morning coffee, sticky notes take over the penthouse, the group goes for a snow day in the park and more! 7x8 with implied 4xSarah.


**_A/N: Hi guys! This is reposted from the I am Number Four section of FF because I just realized NOW that there's a book section... I am so ashamed. But besides that, hello, I have found my people! _**

**_These are just some one-shots about the things I imagine our lovely Garde would be doing to kill time in the penthouse. Plus one extra one-shot that was too short to be it's own thing at the end. So... yea. Enjoy!_**

* * *

><p><strong>Smile for Me<strong>

It was just a bad combination. A thin jacket, minus ten degree weather and an expertly thrown snowball had landed Marina a permanent seat out of what had been one of the funnest things she'd done in years.

Looking outside that morning the Garde had discovered a thick layer of fluffy white snow that had coated Chicago overnight. Of course, Ella had wanted to go outside and play in it, but it wasn't exactly a safe playground on the streets of Chicago. So Nine had offered to load everyone up into one of Sandor's cars and the group had gone to the park.

It had all been fun... but it wasn't so much fun when her jacket was soaked and her only option was to sit in the car until either her jacket dried or everyone got bored and they went home. And considering the snowman-making-snowball-throwing-fort-building fun that was going on outside, she doubted it would be any time soon.

She sat in passenger seat, hands held up against the heater and eyes glued to the fun going on outside. She watched the tiny white flecks begin to fall from the sky outside. Oh, what she wouldn't give to be out there with her friends right now. She frowned, dropping her head back so it could sit on the headrest. What a truly awful situation.

Someone knocked on the glass and Marina nearly screams in surprise. She hadn't expected anyone outside and for about half a second considered she might be under attack. But she quickly realized to her surprise (and secret pleasure) it was Eight, pulling down the collar of his high-necked jacket to reveal his grin.

Upon catching her attention he waved, wobbling just a little bit before righting himself. He leaned forward and breathed on the glass, drawing a smiley face with his free hand and then pointing at her through the window.

She gives him a half smile, shaking her head to signal no.

He frowns for a second, but then grabs his cheeks and stretches them out to make a harmless, silly face.

Marina giggles at his attempt, but still shakes her head, kind of enjoying the game. And the attention.

Eight visibly sighs through the glass, animated twirling an invisible mustache between his fingers. He seems to reach an idea as he raises an arm in the air and them ducks beneath the car, disappearing from sight. Before Marina can begin to wonder where he went he pops back up, a fair sized chunk of snow clutched in his gloved hand.

He hesitantly pulls the collar of his jacket away and, without warning, drops the snow down his jacket, making an animatedly over-exaggerated face as he slowly sinks to the ground, grasping at the car door as if he were dying.

Marina can't help but laugh, her shoulders shaking with silent giggles as she watches Eight disappear from view.

"Gosh, it's cold outside."

Eight is suddenly sitting in driver's seat next to her, shaking flakes of snow from his messy hair. He sheds his jacket, revealing a nice big wet spot on his chest where he put the snow. "Word of advice," He says, kicking off his boots. "putting snow down your jacket is a really lousy way to keep warm."

Marina blushes. "You didn't have to do that for me." She says quietly.

"Of course I did," Eight laughs, reaching up and touching her pink cheek lightly. "I would do anything to make you smile."

Marina smiles at him, silently praying that he'll mistake her now furiously red cheeks for the cold weather.

* * *

><p><strong>Boys will be Boys<strong>

Sarah, Marina and I sat in the kitchen, claiming ownership of the three stools next to the counter. Sarah and Marina had been fiddling with the coffee machine—but that's another story. Now we were seated, side by side, the fancy coffees all but forgotten. Sarah had a magazine in one hand, but she wasn't paying it any attention, instead diverting her gaze towards the living area half of the room.

It had all started when Ella had nonchalantly asked Eight how many different types of animals her could turn into during dinner yesterday. Eight had shrugged, he didn't really know. So the boys—him, Nine and John—had gotten it in their heads that they should find out. You know, for 'tactical reasons'.

Now they were in the living room, John with a clipboard and a pen, Nine quickly dictating everything he saw for John to write down, and Eight… well, I'm sure you can imagine.

"They've been going for like… six minutes now." Sarah says.

"How much longer do you think he'll keep it up?" Marina whispered, obviously worried.

Eight transforms into a t-rex, and suddenly pressed for room takes a step back, bumping into the chandelier with his side. The ceilings in the penthouse had always been high, but I had a feeling that the architects had never thought to accommodate the height of a dinosaur when designing the building.

Eight turns, probably trying to avoid whatever he hit, but doesn't remember his massive tail, and with one fatal swoop the entire chandelier comes crashing down, exploding into a sea of broken glass and crystal.

"Until something like that happens." I snort. I excuse myself from the counter, tucking my stool in behind me. "Come on, ladies, it's time for damage control."

* * *

><p><strong>Fearless Warriors<strong>

After training with Eight and Nine had finished we went right back to the way things had been before… everyone was bored. Sarah, John and Six were still on their mission to Arkansas, and without any updates from them we literally had nothing to do.

So we decided to waste away in front of the TV, watching it through half-lidded eyes with little to no interest as to what was actually going on. I just wanted the others to get back… hopefully with Five.

I pulled myself up from the couch, earning a slight glance from Eight as he tried to break his comatose state as to ask me where I was going.

"Washroom," I mumble, shuffling my way down the hall without even waiting for a response. I was basically like a sleepwalker at that point: barely able to execute normal motor skills, my brain all but shut down.

And then I saw it. It was gross, hairy, with bright red eyes that I could see from this distance and eight long, thick legs. Probably the biggest spider I had seen in a civilized place. Maybe the biggest I had seen ever, and I'd seem my fair share of those monsters at the convent.

I shrieked, shocked by this disgusting creature and a little shaken from coming out of my half-awake haze so quickly. The spider began to crawl towards me and I shrieked again. If I had been John and I could shoot fire from my hands, I probably would have singed the thing right then and there, along with a good portion of the carpet.

"What is it?!" Eight sounded panicked, suddenly standing next to me and touching my shoulder. I squeak, wide-eyed, and point at the beast.

Eight gasps, disappears and returns in seconds holding a cereal bowl in two hands. He slams it down over the spider, hard, shrouding it from sight.

I sigh in relief. It may sound ridiculous, but… I really didn't like the look of spiders. I mean, I've fought some pretty nasty looking things but… spiders are just so… _eghhhhh. _ I shiver just thinking about it. There was no way I was going anywhere near that thing… let alone be brave enough to go at it with a Kleenex.

"So…" I turn to Eight, kind of expecting him to kill it.

"Hm," He nods and me and disappears again, this time returning with a roll of duct tape and a sharpie.

"What are you…?"

He begins to tape the bowl the carpet with repeated layers of the shiny adhesive. "If I can shapeshift into a spider then… it just doesn't feel right to kill one." He uncaps the sharpie and starts to write on the tape. "And they creep me out."

I can sympathize with that, so I don't say anything. Instead I peek over his shoulder and see what he's writing in his messy scrawl: _Caution: Really big, nasty spider._

"Why are you guys taping a bowl to my carpet?" I hear Nine approach me from behind and I spin around, smiling sheepishly. "Well, there's a spider and… neither of us wanted to kill it so… we thought…"

"Right," Nine sighs impatiently rolling his eyes. "You guys can't kill an itty bitty spider?"

"It's not that tiny—" I begin to argue, but Eight appears at Nine's side, a crumpled tissue in his hand.

"Here," He holds it out to Nine, who takes it in succession. "Why don't you show us how it's done?" He says, completely sincere.

Nine only sighs again, but walks past us and crouches next to the bowl, roughly tearing the tape from the carpet. He lifts the bowl—and slams it back down.

"Holy crap," He swallows, backing away. "That's not so itty bitty,"

"Would you like another tissue?"

"I think I'm going to need a garbage bag to get that one," He turns to Eight quickly, pointing at him threateningly. "And that doesn't mean go get me a garbage bag, I'm not going to kill that thing."

"But you just said—"

"Ap!" Nine makes a motion of a mouth closing with his hand. "Now let me think…" It only takes him a second before his eyes light up and he yells out: "Ella!"

"No way!" I say, jumping in front of him. "If you won't kill it, what makes you think she can?"

"She's not a baby!"

"Nine, what is it?" Ella pokes her head around the corner to see the three of us standing there. She probably heard us arguing from across the penthouse, but she pretends not to have heard anything.

"Are you okay with killing spiders?" Eight asks bluntly, pointing towards the bowl on the floor.

Ella peers at us quizzically, clearly confused. "Why don't you just use your telekinesis or something to just pick it up?"

* * *

><p><strong>Fancy Coffee<strong>

Six was absolutely no good in the morning unless she had a cup of coffee. She had never really been a morning person—although if an army of Mogadorians had burst through the penthouse windows right at that moment she probably would have found a way to manage. Heck, she'd probably she'd probably destroy them all just because they had disrupted her sleep.

But it wasn't hard to understand that living at the penthouse wasn't a place of constant action. She was grateful for the safe place to stay, she hadn't had one in a while. The thing was that no fights meant more time to sleep, and more time to sleep meant it was harder to get up, and the harder it was to get up the more coffee she would need.

It was an endless circle, really. Not to mention Nine had one heck of a coffee machine.

But unlike before, when she'd been on her own, there were a few more people to accommodate. John had almost immediately noticed her making it in the morning, and the next thing she knew she was making coffee for two. Then Sarah had wanted in, but she only drank a _special type_, so she had promptly ran out to the grocery store and picked up enough bags so that Six would never run out. And then, of course Nine had come along, and although the coffee made him a little more jumpy, he did start doing this cool thing where he would crush soda cans on his head.

Six had tried to ignore it all, because she just really needed that cup of joe.

Then she woke up one morning to see Sarah messing with the machine, doing some strange things with _her coffee_ so that there would be foam and cinnamon and little cream hearts. Naturally Marina and Ella had wanted to learn how to make hearts in cream, so Six had to skip an entire day as the girls played with the machine.

But she endured, oh, she endured.

She endured the fancy coffee and its strange taste, endured the cute little foamy bubble toppings and the caramel swirls and the letters made of cream just so she could pick it all away and get to her coffee. That was starting not to taste so much like coffee.

Then Five broke the machine when he tried forcing whole beans inside instead of the grindings. So they upgraded to a fancier machine with twenty different ways to make coffee and a built in grinder and no apparent or clearly marking '_On' switch_. And she was just too proud to ask anyone how to turn it on.

So she endured further.

The last straw, perhaps, was the day that Sarah had insisted that Eight have some coffee, too.

"It's good," She had said cheerfully, handing him one of their little masterpieces. "It'll give you a little energy, you know?"

Well… energy had been an understatement. At first, he'd seemed fine. He sipped it cautiously, but he didn't react badly to it, considering it was his first time with the drink. But by the time he was about halfway (And you'd better believe it wasn't a big mug) you would start to notice he was getting twitchy, jittery, fidgety. His hands were shaking and he dropped the mug.

And then, quite like a firecracker, he went off, bouncing off the walls in the form of a dog, a parrot, a monkey, a small lion. He was transforming so fast you didn't even know what the next thing was. Because yea, as much as Eight wasn't an animal they were still a part of him, and everyone knows that caffeine isn't really great for animals.

So they bought decaf coffee from that point on. And decaf coffee… well, wasn't exactly the morning boost she was looking for.

And so Six decided she was better off without her little stimulant—energy drinks were a much better option, anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>Freedom<strong>

He loved having the power at his fingertips. The roar of the engine at the slightest touch, the dominant sensation of sitting in the driver's seat. He loved feeling the leather of the steering wheel and knowing that he could go from zero to sixty in the matter of seconds. He loved the idea of ripping out of the parking garage and driving for hours in luxury and style. He loved picturing the faces of those people he could drive wild with jealousy.

Yea, Nine had a thing about cars. Cars were cool, sexy. Cars were freedom, muscle, speed. He'd spend his fair share of days sitting in Sandor's red Ferrari in the parking garage of the John Hancock building. Just thinking about all it was capable of, all that he could do with that car.

Cars were confidence. Cars were a test of masculinity and supremacy. And for a boy who seemed to lack confidence his entire life, the confidence of sitting behind the wheel was more and more enticing every day.

Nine liked being the best, and he knew that this car was the best, the crown jewel. He wanted to be the best. The wheel was his crown, the clutch his scepter, and the open road his for the taking.

He revved the engine, considering all the places he could go, see, do. All the people he could meet. He could drive right on out of there and never turn back.

He always had to keep reminding himself that despite the car, despite the penthouse, despite all his fancy gadgets and bucket loads of money, he'd never be free.

Not even a fancy car, with all its bells and whistles, could grant him his freedom.

* * *

><p><strong>Post-It Tornado<strong>

John had discovered, as with every relationship, that there was always that one thing about a person that you don't discover until you're already involved with them. The thing that he discovered about Sarah: she really liked post-it notes.

It was cute, don't get him wrong. She would sometimes leave a message on his coffee if she got up before him, or left a friendly reminder on the fridge for the rest of the Garde (Because sometimes they could be a bit scatterbrained). It wasn't something that bothered him, in fact, he'd seen _a lot_ worse from a girl.

What John really didn't understand was how Sarah's individual little habit turned into a penthouse fad. You couldn't open the fridge anymore without knocking a few of the multicolored pages to the ground. And they weren't just on the fridge, no, they were all over the house now. On the TV, on people's bedroom doors, almost coating the gauntlet. Eight had a pair of jeans with green stains on the pockets because he'd left a whole pad in there when the jeans went in the wash.

It was an environmentalist's nightmare.

The worst part was that no one was really talking anymore. Marina and Eight would sit on different sides of the couch and throw balled up messages at each other. Nine only seemed to communicate by dropping post-its from his perch on the ceiling. Five seemed to have gone into a vow of silence… but then again he never really talked to them anyway.

In the end, John still got his morning note from Sarah… with a note from the rest of his teammates attached. After flipping through the number of multicoloured stickies on his mug he sighed, pulling out his own personal pad and writing out a message: _Guys, I think this is becoming a problem._

He stuck it the fridge and walked away.

* * *

><p><strong>Reckoning- Marina<strong>

I was so stupid. It hurts to say, it should hurt anyone, but it stung just a little less knowing it was true. I was so stupid. Stupid for believing. For thinking for a second that there may be an end in sight. Stupid for feeling, for trusting and for loving. I was a naïve person, I realized. I was still a little girl, probably no older than Ella in my own head.

I cared too much, I knew that. The moment I met the rest of the Garde I had loved them like I would the family I never had. I had wanted to love—and wanted to be wanted—for so long in my life that I just jumped right in without thinking.

God, so stupid.

Six and Nine, they were smart. They were impartial, like a warrior should be. They didn't get emotional like I did, they didn't get attached like I do. They were tough as nails, strong-willed and defiantly fierce. I had always wanted them to be more open, to reveal themselves to me just so I could know them like a brother and sister. Now I understood.

I could feel the tears leaking down my face, hot with mingled sweat and blood. The cool air of the rushing fan boat did nothing to staunch my burning face. I wiped the water away with the palm of my hand, smearing them across my face like war paint.

Eight wasn't here anymore, I wasn't going to deny it. He was gone, trapped beneath layers of suffocating ice behind us. We left him there to rot, or possibly become subject to Mogadorian experiments.

I was an idiot to care. To think we had a chance, to think it was okay to love someone. I should have known better than to think there might be a happily ever after in our future. We were still at the foundation of the long fight to come; caring was not an option. At least, not anymore.

I had to learn better, I had to realize that we were a group of chosen warriors, not a family. It didn't really matter the human natures that I had picked up during my time here because I was born to be a fighter, not a lover. I'm not fit for the job, but the job chose me.

I stretch my hands, feeling the coolness of not just my healing, but something new extending out to the tips of my fingers. Ice that stops plants from growing, that leeches the warmth from your body, that doesn't forgive.

Ice that freezes tears in their tracks.


End file.
